ISLAMIC thinkers search ceaselessly for the true rendering of dogma. But, as with every religion, no such rendering is to be found. In the 1960s an argument raged within the Islamic world about which social and political system was enjoined by the Koran: those of a socialist or communist persuasion cited verses from the Koran on a common, nomadic, ownership of land, water and fire; those in favour of capitalism and private property cited quotations from the Hadith attributed to the prophet Muhammad on the right to private property; some invoked Islamic traditions of feudalism, others even cited Koranic verses sanctioning slavery. Comparable debates on matters of contemporary concern, be it the position of women, the correct attitude to communications technology or the environment follow a similarly diverse path.

The contribution of Ayatollah Khomeini to Islamic political thought was to offer one clear and robust answer to the question of politics and the form of an Islamic state: in contrast to many who argued that no Islamic state could be created in the absence of the direct successors of the Prophet, the imams, Khomeini maintained that it was possible to create an Islamic state in the contemporary world. This state could be guided by a learned clergyman, a faqih, who would act as the representative of the imam, and, by implication, of Allah. It was this idea, linked to a call for the just revolt of the oppressed against tyranny and against “world arrogance”—the United States and its allies, which provided an ideological base for the Iranian revolution.

Khomeini himself brooked little opposition in his lifetime. Yet, as Daniel Brumberg shows in this fascinating study, there are in regard to Khomeini's thought and legacy many possible interpretations, just as there are of the Islamic tradition itself. Khomeini's own thought combines different strands, elements of classical Islam, Shi'ite asceticism and mysticism, and, Mr Brumberg argues, elements of third-world radicalism absorbed through his followers. To these he could also have added a strong dose of Iranian nationalism.

The central conflict in Khomeini's thinking is between the authoritarian model of power, in which all authority rests with the faqih, himself appointed by a coterie of senior clergy, or ulema, and the democratic or popular elements which gave the revolution and the Islamic Republic their initial legitimacy and which are also inscribed in the Iranian constitution. Since Khomeini's death in 1989 disputes over his legacy have grown. Mr Brumberg examines how old anti-liberal elements inside the Iranian state, currently led by Ayatollah Khamanei, Khomeini's successor as supreme leader, espouse the Khomeini legacy. He also illustrates, however, that many reformers, including the weak but dogged liberal President Khatami, now standing for re-election, do so as well.

The writings of revolutionary fathers, be they Khomeini, Mao or Lenin, allow for wide interpretation. But here, perhaps, we see the limits of Mr Brumberg's approach, based as it is on studying the ayatollah's speeches and Mr Khatami's pleas for more liberal readings. For Khomeini's legacy is more than textual: it is a state, complete with a system of laws and an authoritarian elite who control its guns and courts. These are not the sort to be moved by exhortations to pluralism from the founder. Khomeini can be reinterpreted and reinvented, many times over, but that will not, in itself, alter the dictatorship that he established and which Mr Khatami is trying, vainly so far, to contest.

Not that any of this would have surprised or bothered the ayatollah, who blithely declared: “I may have said something yesterday, changed it today, and will change it tomorrow. This does not mean that simply because I made a statement yesterday, I should adhere to it.” Khomeini could reinvent Khomeini; it is less clear how far others may do so.